Save You A Seat | ✓

HER PEACE N QUIET

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STOLEN:

HER PEACE N QUIET
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THE LIBRARY WAS COMPLETELY full two days later. Brooke had snatched a table in the corner and pulled out her psychology textbook to review. Exams were in a week and she had absolutely no idea what was going on in class.

Her peaceful study session was disturbed when suddenly someone pulled out the chair across her.

"Hey, mind if I sit here? No? Cool, thanks," the intruder said.

Brooke looked at the intruder, her gaze morphing into a glare at the all-too-familiar face of the bus-seat thief.

"Fucking hell," she muttered, sliding further into her chair and shifting her glare to her textbook.

The boy looked up at her, surely surprised by her unprompted rudeness. His mouth shape formed into an 'O' when he recognized her. "Well, well, what are the odds?" Smiling at her, he said, "Sorry, this is the only open seat so guess you'll have to deal with me." He shrugged, as if to say what you can you do?

"Whatever," Brooke mumbled. The sight of his face just brought her to a sour mood.

He opened his mouth as if to reply but thought against it. Instead, he pulled out some loose-leaf paper and got to work, tapping the wooden pencil on his head every now and then as he got lost in deep thought.

His presence made her uneasy, and Brooke couldn't help but watch him. She noticed his soft locks that slightly curled at the ends, the little scar that decorated the skin on his left arm, the way he twitched his lips in confusion.

After a few minutes of observing his work, she blurted, "You're doing it wrong."

He glared up at her. "Shut up," he muttered, angling himself so that the paper was hidden from her.

She huffed and leaned back. Ignorant idiot. Rolling her eyes, she tried focusing on the textbook she was supposed to be reading but found the words completely flying past her mind.

Moments later, he sniffed, "Okay, I might be wrong. Where?" He angled himself back, avoiding her eyes.

Brooke wanted to cheer in triumph, Ha! I told you so, you absolute dipshit! But she cleared her throat and forced herself to be mature. She pointed at the error, "The derivative of a constant is zero."

He groaned and began erasing all his work, muttering about how much he hated math.

"So, did you like, already take calculus or something?" he questioned.

"Yeah, I took AP in high school," she answered.

"Alright, smarty-pants," he said lightly, brushing the eraser scrubs off the desk. "I'm here on a basketball scholarship," he grinned. "As you can tell, schoolwork isn't exactly my strength."

Brooke rolled her eyes again. Of course he was a basketball player.

"Why'd you do that for?" he protested.

"Do what?"

"That," he mimicked her dramatic eye rolling, adding a girly toss of the hair.

Brooke suppressed a laugh, "I didn't do that."

"You so did," and he did it again, adding extra flair to the pretend hair flip.

Brooke couldn't help it – she laughed. She covered her mouth after receiving a handful of angry hushes but the laughter squeaked out.

He smiled, satisfied at having broken her cold front. "I'm Flynn Eastwood by the way," he winked. "But some call me Flipper."

Brooke snorted. "Okay, Flipper," she held his gaze. "I'm Brooke Thompson and I hate you."

Flynn's eyes widened in false offense, "Hey, I'm sorry! If it makes you feel any better, I ended up giving the seat up later to a pregnant lady. But you looked positively livid that morning. I just had to mess with you."

Brooke kicked him under the table, "Not funny. My head was killing me that day, I could have died."

"Don't worry, I would have been there to toss your body out," he assured her.

Brooke was about to retort something back, but the conversation was halted when students around them glared and hushed angrily at them. Flynn looked at her, smile crooked and eyes twinkling.

"Yeah Brooke, shut up, calculus awaits me."